


A Bunch of Snarky Surgeons Eating Pudding

by Jennifer-Oksana (JenniferOksana)



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 12:44:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4920079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenniferOksana/pseuds/Jennifer-Oksana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Burke is the perfect man, and Cristina resents that quite a lot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bunch of Snarky Surgeons Eating Pudding

“So does it ever get oppressive, being the perfect freaking man?” Cristina asked, sitting down next to Burke with a bowl of pudding. “I just opened a container of rice pudding and put it into a bowl instead of eating it out of the carton. And I didn’t even realize it until I was sitting next to you. This is all your fault, you realize.”

“You eating rice pudding? I thought you bought that at the supermarket,” Burke said mildly.

“No, the bowl. The bowl which is a giant symbolic indicator of adulthood, and grown-up-ness, and things that I was very happily living without until I moved in with **you** ,” Cristina said, looking dourly at her pudding before taking a large bite. “You know you do more than half the housework?”

“I do own the apartment. And I’m the neat freak,” Burke said.

“Yeah, but you know what I mean,” Cristina said. “Other neat freak guys who do housework don’t DO housework without telling you how great they are for doing it.”

Burke smirked. “So you want me to tell you how great I am because I know how to polish silver and you can’t even fold a pair of pants?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, hell, no, I don’t give a damn if you clean the grout on the tile with a special brush made by Belgian monks,” Cristina said, taking another bite of pudding and bumping against her boyfriend comfortably. “But you’re missing the point. This is why you are perfect. This is why you are a freak of nature and I think it’s scary and wrong that I have accepted this freakness without batting an eyelash.”

“Because I do housework without expecting a medal,” he said dryly.

“While also possessing a penis,” Cristina said with a serious nod. “Seriously. It’s not natural.”

“Cristina, I think you’re overthinking this,” Burke said, putting his hand atop hers. Her hand that was drumming an atonal rhythm into her thigh muscle in between bites of rice pudding she’d bought because it was half-price with the club card.

The club card that wasn’t even hers. Cristina totally punched in Izzie’s phone number because she wasn’t going to let the supermarket overlords know her buying tastes and catalog them and market to her so easily.

“Of course I’m overthinking it. I’m not perfect, but you are, and it’s making me twitchy,” Cristina said. “I mean, I should not be in awe of your housekeeping skills, considering you’re a great surgeon and a great lover and about thirty other things that are a hell of a lot more interesting than your alphabetized collection of recipe cards.”

Burke kissed Cristina on the ear. She batted him away, her brows knit in deep thought. He looked at her, his expression half-quizzical and half-affectionate.

“Maybe you should just go back to eating from the carton if using a bowl makes you this upset,” he suggested, rubbing her upper arm gently. “Why did you buy rice pudding, anyway? It’s not a very Cristina dish.”

“What, you think the Koreans of Southern California don’t love rice pudding? One day I will have to take you to a buffet with my mother,” Cristina said. “You’ll want to eat a cultural delicacy and she’ll be sucking down the Jell-O and asking you why you’re not eating. Before bitching about how crappy the bagels are.”

She caught his expression from the corner of her eye and cracked up; after another moment, Burke was laughing along with Cristina.

“Actually, I learned to like this stuff because I was rooming with this complete hick from, like, Hattiesburg, back when I was at Berkeley,” Cristina continued, settling herself so that she was sitting in front of Burke and he could massage her shoulders while she talking. “There was much smart-assed racist commentary on both sides, and I ended up eating…rice pudding.”

“And your roommate?” Burke asked.

“Learned the joys of chicken soup with matzoh balls,” Cristina said. “Which I stole from Hillel. Because I don’t cook.”

Burke pressed his forehead against Cristina’s back, and the vibrations from his laughter tickled all the way through.

“I…did I deserve that?” he asked. “The rice pudding seemed out of character for the woman who lives on black coffee and spite. That’s all.”

“You were diverting me from the larger problem of how you are perfect and it creeps me out,” Cristina replied unrepentantly. “And seriously, my roommate Shawna from Hattiesburg. Blondest white girl ever. Though still less frightening than Kielea, the Mormon girl I had lab with during o-chem who bitched that the food of her people was Jell-O and fry sauce.”

“Fry sauce?” Burke asked.

“Mayo and ketchup,” Cristina said. “Anyway, answer the question. Does it get oppressive, being perfect? Or do you just infect people with your little habits?”

Burke looked at Cristina for a long, long moment. He then took the bowl of rice pudding away from her.

And set it on the floor.

They both stared at the bowl for a long, long moment. And then at each other. And then at the half-eaten bowl of rice pudding just sitting on the floor.

“You really want to pick it up, don’t you?” Cristina whispered.

Burke didn’t say anything. Instead he kissed her, his hand finding its way to his favorite spot just above her hip as she smirked and twisted around before pulling her top off and throwing it so it deliberately landed on top of the bowl of pudding.

“You’re cheating,” Burke said, running his hands over her bared tummy.

“Come on, Burke,” Cristina taunted, grinding against him. “There’s a half-eaten bowl of rice pudding on your floor with dirty clothes on it. On the other hand, there is a woman in your lap who wants to have kinky, kinky sex with you immediately. Tell me that in the back of your head, a little voice isn’t wishing you’d set it on the bedside table.”

“I’m manfully resisting the urge,” Burke replied, deadpan. “But only because you’re promising me kinky sex.”

“The kinkiest,” Cristina said, pulling off her bra and then kissing him, her teeth catching his lower lip between hers. “But you see what I mean?”

“I see what you mean, but do you see me picking up the bowl, or unbuttoning your jeans?” Burke replied, undoing the top button on her jeans.

“You have bad taste in women,” Cristina taunted.

“Also, I like sex better than housework,” Burke replied, sliding a hand underneath the elastic of her underwear.

“Good,” Cristina said, sucking on his earlobe. “As long as you’re not perfect, I can keep you around.”

He laughed, and answered her the way only a wise man could.

Of course, the next morning, the first thing Cristina saw when she woke up was the bowl. Sitting on the bedside table.

She snuggled against Burke naughtily. “And you say I have problems,” she murmured. “Nerd.”

“Mmm,” Burke replied.

“Mmm,” Cristina agreed, smiling as she closed her eyes again. “So much.”


End file.
